


Beyond the pale everything's black, no turning back

by TheDestroyer



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 04:23:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5192210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDestroyer/pseuds/TheDestroyer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Merlin deal with the consequences of V-day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beyond the pale everything's black, no turning back

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback always welcome :) Unbeta'd so sorry for any mistakes!

You turn over so that you’re facing me and I can feel the bed dip under your weight, bringing you closer. Your lips are moving and although I can’t hear it, I know what you’re saying. It’s the same thing every night, the same words you chant over and over again like a mantra as you lie in a restless slumber. The pale moonlight illuminates the hills and valleys and ridges of your face pressed against the pillow. Some of them are comforting and familiar-the perfect slope of your nose, the strong line of your jaw. Some of them are less familiar-the way your cheekbones protrude slightly too much or the ragged web of scars that encircle your left eye. Gently, I card my fingers through the soft wave of your hair and watch as your brow furrows. It’s only recently that you opened up enough to tell me what really haunts your unconscious thoughts. I don’t understand and I don’t pretend to but I listen intently and that’s all you need. 

 

As I watch, you begin to tremble slightly under my touch and a light sheen of sweat appears on your forehead. It’s at times like these where I long to wake you up, hold you tenderly in my arms and whisper sweet nothings into your ear until the shaking (and sometimes crying) stops. But I don’t; the doctors say it’s best if I let you sleep and work through it in your own time. For me, that is the hardest part: seeing you beat yourself up every day and night over something you had no control over. They say you’re getting better and god I hope they’re right for once. Our relationship, once the epitome of laid back intimacy, now has an artificial fevered-sweetness to it that we both can’t stand. I still love you though. I love you so much it hurts sometimes and you can’t always see that. Still, you love me and that’s all I need to make me stay. 

 

Tenderly, I ghost my lips over yours then peel off the covers and leave you to battle with your inner demons. 

 

The water is soothing and helps to disperse the lump in my throat while I clutch one of our few remaining glasses in my clammy palms. The rest of them have been broken into a million different pieces, by me as well as you. A few shards are still embedded in the wall and gleam like vulgar diamonds, serving as a permanent reminder that the worst is still not yet over. I spend many nights staring at this wall while my thoughts spin like the hands of the taunting clock. Unlike me, the clock never gets dizzy. How did we ever end up like this? You’re held together by Duct tape and staples while I feel as if I’m wearing my nerves on the outside of my skin and we can’t even hold hands without fear of breaking each other. I remember the first time since you’d been back that I dared to hold you the way I’d done before. You shook so hard that I could see the fragile cracks in your porcelain façade and the pain of your past seeping through. Our first cup was broken that day. Time will never reverse itself and the cup, like you, will forever bear the scars of my mistakes. Despite all this, I continue to sift through the broken fragments of our past and hand you the pieces so we can build a new future together, using the blood on your hands as glue. Maybe the universe will smile down on us one day and love will finally conquer all. 

 

I’ve become used to finding you like this, curled in on yourself with the cold from the bathroom tiles slowly seeping into your bones. It’s not the first time I’ve had to unclench your trembling fists and coax you back to yourself with soft words and even softer caresses. It’s like trying to lure a wild tiger out of the shadows, except that when it gets close you realise it’s nothing more than a tiny lost kitten. When the shaking finally stops, you look so small and vulnerable and ask if it’s okay if we just sit for a while. I say of course it is and silence any form of an apology that tries to escape your lips. This has become our ritual and right now it’s almost comforting to have something familiar to cling to. When you finally feel ready to face sleep again, you let me guide you back to bed and hold you almost tentatively as if we were teenagers again. Shrouded in morning twilight and cotton sheets, we can sometimes pretend that nothing ever happened and tomorrow we will wake up with the whole world ahead of us.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: This piece was originally written as part of my English language coursework (with a few minor changes). Come say hi, my tumblr is thats-not-my-cannibal


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